Hawt Bag Lady Action

20 Apr

Higgins, half in the bag

I love me a reusable bag.  I just wish that I could remember to take them out of my car and actually, you know, use them.  We find different ways of putting them to work around the house.  The Mister has his winter gear in one and I have an ill-fated crochet project in another.  They aren’t sitting in a cabinet somewhere or in someone’s backseat… or they aren’t most of the time.  They just never seem to make it into the grocery store or in to the main bagging offender, Tar-zhay.

In Europe not only have people taken to buying them at point of sale, they are actually using them.  Perhaps they are not as influenced by something being cute as I am.  They might actually be buying them for the purpose that they were intended and that’s why those suckers see the light of day.

I wanted to bring one on the trip with us.  We have some mad picnic skillz that we’re going to flaunt.  “Yeah, you see this?  It’s some cheese.  And this?  Yeah, it’s a crusty French loaf of happiness.  I’m going to throw in some strawberries here and blow your mind, party people.”  Well, that kind of expertise needs a pretty dynamic bag, one that’s ready when you need it and one that knows when it’s time to pull up a chair and sit this one out.

The Chico Bag seemed to be the best the internet had to offer, if you care (and if you don’t, by golly why do you read my blog?  I mean, thank you.  But serious?).  They have the standard shopper and a whole slew of environmentally friendly bagging solutions while also not being ugly.  So you know I’m down.  Better still was that I found this bag at Seward Co-op while I was getting The Mister some of J.R. Ligget’s solid shampoo.  He is cuckoo for shampoo… bars.

I got the bag home and then I decided to road test the sucker.  And what tells the tale of a bag’s merit quite like seeing if your cat can fit in it?  I don’t know because that’s my main bag checking go-to.  Anyway, I won’t leave you in suspense.  The bag passed with flying cat hairs.   And it folded down into a palm-sized featherweight package.  Wait until those Dutch canal-sitters see me rocking this.  They’ll be all… something Dutch, I swear.


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